2008 - Glendale Community College

Taste the Summer Rain
by Chasity Creasy
2nd Place
The moon was hiding, the stars too dim
in the inky sky. Quietude filled the night,
and guards were slack in protecting the
shinden-zukuri, but more importantly, the
nobleman who lived there.
It was almost too easy for the silent
hunter to slide down the side of the
bamboo wall and land without a sound
on the loose dirt. The dark-clad figure
crouched, looking around as he took in
the pattern of footfalls from warriors
patrolling the area and the ladies of the
house preparing to turn in.
He sprinted across the ground and stop
on the covered walkway. Still no alarm,
no recognition that an intruder was
there. It was pathetic to the assassin.
With cautious steps, he made his way
around his target‘s home, remembering the
detailed research he gathered for this
night. It was a mission he hoped would
fall into his hands, all he had to do was
be patient.
Fifteen years tested his strained wait,
and it had paid off well, in technique,
skill, and a reputation that allowed him
first chance at this assignment.
He stopped before a rice paper door,
the dim light of a candle glowing through
it. The sign of wakefulness beyond the
door wasn’t the only thing that made it
different. Behind the door would be his
target, a high-ranking official who helped
in the rebellion against the most honored
lord of the area.
Gripping his katana handle, he prepared
to break through the door, but was
interrupted by a mocking caw that broke
the silent tableau. The bird’s black tar
eyes watched him, perched on the engawa
railing, before it threw its head back
and let out another bitter laugh, spread
its wings, and flew off into the darkness.
He released a breath and berated
himself for his distraction.
“A rain is coming,” a rough voice spoke
through the thin door. The assassin grit
his teeth, muscles tense as he waited
for his target to warn of his attempt to
kill the nobleman. There was a whisper of
silk before the target’s deep voice spoke
again with the same surety of before.
“Please, enter.”
Disbelief warred with cynicism, but
finally, the assassin gripped the shoji
door and slid it open, straightening his
30
posture to look inside at the man he was
hired to kill.
The man was aged; onyx hair giving
way to streaks of smoke grey, and his
tanned skin was rough and leathery. His
wore a blue yukata, his form toned from
training, and a black haori coat over
his shoulders kept him warm from the
approaching winter. The assassin wryly
thought that this man would never have to
worry about surviving the harsh snow ever
again after tonight.
Half-lidded black eyes lined with
wrinkles, looked at the young man dressed
all in grays, and waved a callous hand to
The Novelist
by Martine Cloud
Stoneware & Porcelain
2nd Place